


Carrionclaw

by persistent_pedantry



Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:46:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27232228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persistent_pedantry/pseuds/persistent_pedantry
Summary: A legend is passed down, warning kits and newcomers of the dangers of treachery.
Kudos: 1





	1. The Legend of Carrionclaw

**Author's Note:**

> One day, I decided that I didn't have enough Warrior Cats OCs, so I made Carrionclaw. The idea of a folklore hero (or villain) still being alive and not what they're cracked up to be... ehh, it's done here and there, but I wanted to take a shot at it. I'm pretty proud of how it turned out, so might end up doing more with it.

_“I’m going to tell you all a story,” the queen began, her expression solemn._

_The kits watched her, soon settling in the warmth of the den._

_“Somewhere, far from our Clan, but nearer than we think, lives a cat.”_

“This cat,” the warrior says, slowly pacing the line of apprentices, “wanders the forest, stalking, searching for new prey.”

“Is this the one about the river?” A young tabby asks. “We--”

“No,” he interrupts. “No, this one… doesn’t hunt fish, nor voles, nor foxes, dogs, or Twolegs.”

_“It hunts us.” She whispers._

_One of the ginger kits squirms closer to her, hiding away in her fur._

_“When you stray too far from the Clan, in spirit or in body; when you step into territories forbidden,”_

“It smells you.”

“From anywhere?” Another apprentice asks, scrunching their nose in scrutiny.

“Yes,” the warrior replies, looking out to the land, the river, away to the forbidden lands. “It smells your spirit. You know what you do is wrong, but you continue regardless, wandering into its territory.”

“You mean,”

_“Cawinclaw?”_

_“Yes, dear. Carrionclaw.” The queen leans in, resting with her expression growing cold. “Its coat is black as night, streaked with wounds like the trails of shooting stars. Its eyes corrupts all that meet them, shining in the terrible, terrible darkness of the blood moon.”_

“Carrionclaw is a kit story!” A grey apprentice protests. “We’re not kits; we know not to go out there!”

“It’s not a story,” he warns, shooting a glare at her. “Carrionclaw is out there, somewhere. Loners, rogues, haven’t you wondered why there’s so few of them? Why so few grow old?”

The apprentice is silent. Their very fur seems to pale.

_*“If you ever leave the Clan without the leader knowing, or go where you’re not supposed to, Carrionclaw will find you.”*_

“It will hunt you with speed unseen, claws sharp as shattered ice, and eat you.” The warrior’s expression hardens as he looks over the apprentices again. “Not kill. It’ll slice your stomach open, carve out your insides, and eat you. All you will have is to pray to StarClan that you die quickly, as it won’t give you the luxury.”

_*By now, the kits were in tears, huddling up to their mother for comfort. The queen only sighs, furling her tail around them as she begins her rest.*_

_*“I’m sorry, dears. You have to know about it now, so you don’t do anything silly.”*_

Met with only silence, the warrior gives a stern nod. “Consider yourselves lucky that it hasn’t crossed your paths, nor you, its. Get some rest.”

As the apprentices scatter, the warrior approaches the nursery, quietly lowering to rest by the queen.

“They seem upset,” he murmurs, looking to the bundled-up kits.

“A blood moon is coming. They should know about it.”

“You’re starting them a little young. I told the apprentices about Carrion just now.”

The queen only nods.

Silence bears down on them.

The warrior gets up, looking off to the exit. “They found Mistwillow two nights ago, stomach open and entrails gone. Blood everywhere.”

She curls closer to her kits. “It won’t come here. It doesn’t attack groups.”

“Yet.”

The weight heavy enough to crush bones.

“Yet.”


	2. Uncle Claw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visitors are rare in Slumber's hollow. Fresh faces are often welcome, usually needing medicine or company, but no new face awaited him. It was scarred, marked with blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Humanizing villains is a fun thing to do, and so is adding relations between characters. Two birds, one stone.

Within the forest, there’s a great oak tree, much like many others. It sunk its roots and grew on a small hill, only to find the wind brushing away its home, year after year. After many, many moons, the tree had warped, curling and stretching down to find the dirt again. This malformed tree is The Hollow, and has offered much Slumber and Nightfall much needed shelter for their whole lives.

Nightfall is a young cat, vibrant and vigilant, but still with much to learn. Their deep grey, streaked coat welcomes the coolness of the dusk, and moss green eyes search the clearing for prey.

Slumber lacks Nightfall’s vibrance, vigilance, youth… he’s somewhat of a father to them. His mountainous frame is covered in long, matted, white and orange fur, dirtied by moons of careless rest under the hollow. Befitting to his name, Slumber is burdened by a persistent tiredness, with his moment’s of relief coming only from Nightfall excited calls.

“ _Dad!_ _Dad, it’s uncle Claw!_ ”

Slumber’s eyes bolt open.

Taking a moment to hold his temper, Slumber heaves himself up, going out into the clearing to see his curse again. Red eyes, fur as black as night, irrepressibly annoying to reason with…

Carrionclaw steps into the clearing, giving a sharp-fanged smile.

Slumber sits a short distance from him, gentle golden eyes held a cold glare. “You aren’t welcome here, Carrion. Your memory isn’t going too, I hope.”

Nodding abashedly, Carrionclaw sits by a collapsed tree. “I… did say that, didn’t I?” He recalls, his smile abating. “Well, I thought that, maybe, a small exception could be ma—“

_“This isn’t ‘small’, Carrion_ ,” Slumber interrupts. “I don’t want you near Nightfall.”

Carrionclaw’s nose scrunches in distaste, looking at Nightfall for approval. “Night? Surely you don’t mind seeing me sometimes, do you?”

Nightfall smiles nervously, beginning to walk away. “Dad… doesn’t want me talking to you. He says you’re a bad influence.”

“No, no, that’s silly!” Carrionclaw exclaims, getting up to follow before a growl from Slumber rests him back down.

“You—“ Slumber gives an exasperated sigh, getting up to move closer. “You eat cats, Carrion. That is the _definition_ of a bad influence!” He snaps, in a hushed tone.

“I eat _traitors_ ,” he corrects, leaning down with a matching tone. “If a Clanscat is crossing territories, going out when they shouldn’t be, what do you think that means?”

“That they’re either young or rebellious.”

“And if they’re rebellious?”

“And if they’re _young_ , Carrion?” Slumber pauses, visibly trying to calm himself. “Carrion. You can’t kill Clanscats because they’re breaking Clan rules. You’re not a judicator; you’re just a bordering-on-insane cannibal.”

“Them being young doesn’t excuse betrayal, Slumber,” Carrionclaw says, his shortened tail flicking. “If they don’t dread leaving their Clan, then their leader has failed.”

“Do _NOT_ —“ Slumber rises to his paws, stiffening up. Glancing back to a staring Nightfall, he sighs, slowly lowering back to a seat. “Do not… criticize kits… for being curious, or inquisitive, or rebellious, or _anything_ like that. That is how kits are; it’s in their nature.”

Carrionclaw says nothing for a time. Eventually, he sighs, looking at Slumber with bloodshot, inflamed eyes. “He… _they_ … aren’t your kit, Slumber. You need to stop being so sentimental and get it through you that I gotta eat. We all do.”

Slumber says nothing. His claws extend.

“Look… I… eat traitors. I eat those that would kill others if I didn’t get to them first. When there’s none of them left, I move to the ones with potential to kill—the early betrayals.”

“And how, exactly, do you figure that there are ‘none of them left’?”

Carrionclaw sighs again and motions to the forest behind him. “How many rogues have you seen in the past ten moons, Slumber? How many ShadowClan? How many overeager warriors wanting to clean up the loner population?”

Silence.

“The past twenty? Thirty, even?”

“Too many for your point to mean anything, Carrion.” Slumber slowly gets up, his claws retracting as he pads back to the hollow.

“They fear me, Slumber. Since I became a legend, the leaders’ backs are far less scarred—as is yours.”

“You’re a gleaming example of how low a cat can fall,” Slumber says, looking back with a solemn expression. “If you want loyalty, love them.”

“Only until they’re starving, Slumber. Growing cat’s gotta eat.”

“Then we will share our hatred of betrayal.”


End file.
